What happened to the Scarlet locks?
by LiteratiGeek
Summary: There's a pretty noticeable change in Black Widow from Iron Man 2 to The Avengers; her hair is chopped off. I decided to take this little detail and roll with it into what could have possibly happened besides a simple trip to the hair salon. Narrative follows a mission between Clint and Natasha that goes wrong, with highly hinted at clint/nat. rating subject to change


**Another Avenger couple I was curious about. Also a different writing style somewhat, the section not being narrated by Clint would obviously be flashbacks and then caught up to present time. It shouldn't be that hard to follow. I just like messing with breaks.**

**Depending on response I might possibly turn this into a chapter fic. If so, I already have chapter two in mind. I'd still like opinions, so reviews are greatly encouraged. **

* * *

"Are you ready to explain to us what happened?"

"Yes."

"Then begin when you're ready."

Agent Barton lifted his head to look up at his fellow agent. Both had fallen silent, only the hum of the helicarrier's engine buzzed in the air. The Agent looked back down at his hands; bandages were still wrapped around them, only a few fingers were left uncovered. He was normally a relaxed person, calm enough to hit the eye of a man bent over a hundred feet away behind a park bench, but now his knee was bouncing beyond his control.

"Agent Barton."

"It was a routine mission, I say this not because we were careless…I say this because we had done this before and so our movements were repeated ones. We had done this before." Agent Barton began. "We had made it past the first wave of security easy, into the factory hold onto the first floor. Agent Romanoff compromised two security guards to get us clearance to the stairwell."

"We reached the second floor of the factory where it was planned for us to split up. I would take the balcony; she would retreat to the bottom floor and enter through the back way." Agent Barton explained, his eyes never moving from his hands, his forearms resting on his knees.

* * *

"Remember the plan." Natasha said simply, her back to Clint as she studied the hallway.

"I know the plan." Clint said simply, hand moving to the dagger on his belt.

"You have one minute and twenty three seconds to clear the balcony for yourself, beyond that your eyes stay on the floor." Natasha continued and then turned to look up at him.

"I know." Clint replied a smirk on his lips as he reached behind him, pulling an arrow from his quiver. He held it up between them, steel eyes dancing behind his sunglasses. "One for luck?" He questioned. Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes for a moment before leaning forward and pressing her lips to the side of the arrow head; her eyes locking in on Clint's through the sunglasses. She pulled away slowly and then turned, starting down the hallway. Clint smirked and then turned, disappearing down the side hallway to the balcony entrance.

* * *

"There was only one man guarding the balcony on the entrance from where I entered, I quickly took out the second on the other side of the balcony. There were eighteen men on the floor, one operating a crane, the big man in charge behind a desk, with two men next to him near the desk. The rest were scattered on the floor." Agent Barton described with a deep breath.

"Agent Romanoff entered in the far back left corner of the factory floor. She proceeded to compromise two of the men before the others became aware. I shot the crane operator in the neck, his machine lost control and proceeded to hit another man. Fourteen."

"Agent Romanoff compromised a third man. Thirteen. It was then I noticed a small marked box among the artillery supplies; big enough to cause an explosion, but not big enough to set off a chain reaction. I shot the box, it exploded and it took out the two nearest men. Eleven."

"By this time Agent Romanoff had proceeded towards the desk. We were instructed to keep the man in charge alive for as long as possible. She took out the two men closest to him. Nine. I took out another man who knocked over a stack of boxes on his way down. Eight."

"It was at this time that Agent Romanoff was fighting with three of the men. I took out another man who had a gun. Seven. The group as a whole was moving closer to the ammo boxes. I compromised another man, six, as Agent Romanoff was still locked in a fight with the three men, one of which got the upper hand on her, injuring her arm. I then compromised the man who hurt Agent Romanoff. Five."

"Agent Romanoff was beginning to become compromised, when I spotted another box like the one before. It had…the…exact same markings as the ones before; I would know. I was sure. It was the same markings, it should have had the same artillery inside as the one before." Agent Barton explained his jaw clenching.

"However, Agent Romanoff was too close to the box for me to feel safe shooting." Agent Barton explained, "If…if she would have just moved to the right a foot…just a…fucking foot."

"Agent Barton."

"I'm sorry." Agent Barton replied taking a deep breath. "Another man had picked up a gun, another joining the man in hand to hand combat with Agent Romanoff." Agent Barton explained. "Agent Romanoff attempted to compromise the man with the gun, but in the process he accidentally shot the man in charge killing him."

"It was then I made the choice…two of the men who were not dead had come around to consciousness and Agent Romanoff was unable to use her left arm, and had lost a decent amount of weapons in the fight. I shot the box, which proceeded to explode setting off a chain reaction of artillery I had not anticipated."

* * *

"NATASHA!" Clint shouted from the balcony. Smoke filled the room quickly and soon even his vision was blocked. He ran down the length of the balcony to the ladder he had seen earlier. He scurried down, jumping off the last six feet into the roll on the factory floor.

He covered his mouth with his forearm, hearing the moans of the men who had been hit. Weapons were still going off, ricocheting off the cement walls and steel piping. "Nat!" Clint shouted, letting out a cough as a cloud of smoke entered his lungs. He proceeded further into the growing inferno.

He stepped over the burning lid of a wooden box and suddenly felt a searing pain in his leg. He let out a cry and looked down to see a man, half trapped under debris with his hand wrapped tightly around a knife, who's blade he had stuck in Clint's calve. Swiftly the agent reached in his quiver and shot the man point blankly, the hand fell to the ground as Clint reached down to pull the knife from his leg. He let out another groan, keeping ahold of the knife as he continued to limp on, "Nat! Come on, girl, where are you?" He called looking around.

It was then a cry echoed off the walls that caused Clint to stop dead in his tracks. It was high pitched, and death clenching. It was desperation, completely without control, and unmistakably Natasha's. There was a pause as he tried to calm the pounding in his chest enough so that he could tell from which way the scream was coming from. He clenched his teeth taking the first step and then continued leg still in agonizing pain as he trudged through the debris of the explosion.

He found her quicker than expected, although she was passed out; he assumed she would be after the screaming subsided. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, half her uniform burnt off, her arm twisted in an odd angle from her shoulder, her foot caught under a fallen metal pipe. He was taking her in when time suddenly caught up to him in a sudden wave.

He dropped to his knees, reaching up to move her arm out from the odd angle. There was a cracking noise and suddenly her eyes were opened with a large gasp. She let out another scream, eyes shutting against pain. "Nat, Nat, I'm here, calm down."

"It burns!" She breathed through gritted teeth, keeping her eyes shut. Clint's brow creased trying to find what would be burning her after he had already patted out each flicker of flame flakes on her uniform. He felt her slapping his arm for his attention as he looked down at the metal piping on her foot, his head turning to look at her. "Get it off." She snapped, reaching above her to the square fallen air duct above her head.

"It's not on you, Nat." Clint said simply.

"Yes it is, dipshit, get it off!" She demanded, he let the name go considering their situation. He crawled over to straddle her stomach, neither thinking of it as he pushed his palms against the air duct; almost immediately removing his hands with a quick intake of breath. The metal was hotter than he had anticipated, his skin already turning bright red just with the quick touch.

"What is it on?" Clint shouted down at her before leaning forward more to see the scarlet tresses trapped underneath the metal. Most of her hair had already burned away, there was no use attempting to push the pipe off again. He picked up the knife, now crusted in his own blood, off the floor and hacked at the thick red locks until Natasha could lift her head.

He turned quickly, prepared for the pain this time as he put his entire weight on his feet on either side of her before pushing the other fallen cylinder off her ankle. He moved to standing up on his feet quickly, gritting his teeth as he moved his hands under her and picked her up. He moved her to his forearms, and willed himself not to look down at his own hands as he started for where he hoped there was an exit.

* * *

"After retrieving Agent Romanoff I contacted base. We were picked up via helicopter a hundred and twenty yards from the factory." Agent Barton explained. Silence filled the room until the sliding door opened.

"Agent Barton, Agent Jones." The man in the doorway stated with a nod to each. "I've been instructed to tell Agent Barton that Agent Romanoff has woken up."

They couldn't contain him, demands for him to sit back down were ignored as Clint rose from his chair and pushed his way into the hallway. His march was purposeful, he had blinders on as he stormed through the halls; determined not to be stopped on his way to the infirmary. He stopped in front of the doors, swiping his card and watching the doors open before him before stepping through.

She was in the third bed from the doors. His walk slowed as he saw her, taking a deep breath as his bandaged hands clenched and then flexed. She was awake, sitting up against the pillows behind her dressed in a white infirmary gown. Her arm was in a sling, her ankle propped up on pillows and currently in a soft cast. He stopped a few feet away from her bed; she finally looked up to see him.

Her long red locks had been cut even shorter than where Clint had been forced to hack them away. They barely skimmed her shoulders now when they had once hung below her chest. His lips parted to say something but nothing came out.

"Would you take those stupid sunglasses off so I can see you." Natasha said simply, not looking very amused. Clint reached up, pulling the glasses off and folding them up, hooking them in his belt loop. "That's better."

"Nat, I'm so sorry." Clint breathed stepping towards her as she shook her head.

"Don't, it's not your fault. If I would have just stop being so damn stubborn and moved a foot to the side instead of trying to mess with that guy after he called me fire-crotch we wouldn't be in this mess." Natasha said simply with a shrug.

"That's what he called you?" Clint asked with a slight chuckle, stopping now next to her bed, his knees hitting the side of her mattress.

"Yeah, the dickhead," Natasha said simply, running a hand through her now shorter hair.

"Looks nice," Clint noted watching her. She scoffed and then looked up at him, obviously not buying it.

"It'll grow back." She told him.

"Hope it doesn't." Clint replied, and for a moment they simply looked back at each other. Hesitantly Clint reached his hand down running his fingers through the thick red curls. He moved to sit down on the edge of the bed facing her, his hand staying in her hair. She looked back at him, not saying anything.

"It's gorgeous, Nat." Clint said softly, his fingers tightening to grip her hair for a moment before relaxing. She had remained silent, eyes trailing down to his lap to see his bandaged hand, her eyes widening. She looked from the hand in his lap, turning to try and see the one in her hair.

"Clint." She said, grabbing his wrist near her cheek and pulling it away from her, "Your hands." She said looking up at him.

"They'll heal, its fine." Clint said with a deep breath.

"They're ruined." Natasha breathed, holding onto his wrist still.

"I'll be fine, Nat, calm down." Clint repeated, attempting to pull his hand away from her. She let him, moving her own back to her lap as she looked up at him.

"Can you even shoot?" She asked looking up at him.

"I will, eventually. For now I'm temporarily retired." He told her with a smirk.

"You're a dumbass." She said simply.

"And you're a stubborn-ass." Clint shrugged with a smirk. Natasha rolled her eyes, moving to lean her head back in the pillow behind her.

"How many were getting up?" She asked simply.

"Two, how'd you see em?" He asked.

"I didn't, but I knew for you to pull a move like that there had to be more coming." She explained. "I couldn't keep him off forever and even if I did I would have taken too long and they would have had backup there before we could have done anything."

"Yeah." Clint said simply, his eyes moving to look down at the floor next to her bed. He stayed silent for a while before with a deep breath he stood up, "I should head back, I stormed out of a debriefing." He explained.

"Stay." Natasha said simply looking up at him. Hearing the word come out of anyone else's mouth would have seemed normal. Anyone else would have wanted comfort in that time. Anyone else would have not wanted to be alone. However, this was Agent Natasha Romanoff, she had spent more than enough time in the infirmary. She was not scared, she was not fearful; she couldn't be.

Clint stopped and looked down at her questioningly. She had demanded many things from him before, never once had she demanded he stay, and never requested anything in such a tone. His fingers skimmed the hospital bed sheet as his steel eyes met hers, searching for the reply that she seemed almost hesitant to give, "Clint, stay." She repeated simply, and slowly he lowered himself back down onto the mattress of the hospital bed.

He turned this time as she moved over, sitting down against the pillows beside her. He stretched his legs out, one with a heavy bandage wrapped around his calf as he reached out to untie his boots and then kick them off before moving his legs into the bed. She asked him about the bandage on his leg, he explained what had happened. And so it continued on for almost half an hour, each pointing to another injury on the other asking for an explanation. Until it was Agent Barton's turn to ask and he received no other reply than the gentle, even breathing of Agent Romanoff asleep on his shoulder.


End file.
